Charlie stares out the window, exhaustion weighing down his legs and his eyelids. He can’t sleep, isn’t sure that he wants to in the first place (and give Dennis and Mac the chance to talk about him? Yeah right). They merge onto 1-76 to Philadelphia, and this ominous feeling comes over him– like being out of his body. He fidgets, shifts in his seat, fidgets again, can’t sit still, so he reaches for the cooler and cracks open another beer. To keep my hands busy, he thinks, to calm my nerves. He gulps it down in a few swallows and tosses the empty can out the sunroof God, he hopes he’ll be able to sleep the rest of the way there.
"Dude, are you serious right now?“ says Dennis from the back, but Charlie doesn’t hear it, or even register that it was directed at him. With an annoyed groan, Dennis reaches around the headrest and cuffs him upside the head.
"Hey! What the hell was that for?”
"For throwing that aluminum can out the window, asshole!“
Dennis is yelling, so Charlie’s brain starts pumping a cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol; the defensiveness shoots up to 11. "Oh, oh, excuse me,” he spits back, and Dennis starts right in yelling over him (“people like you are the reason the planet is dying!”). It’s cathartic and familiar, like for a second they never left after all and nothing that happened actually happened. Like maybe they’ll be able to go back to the bar and act like real people.
"Enough!” Mac shouts, slamming his palms down onto the steering wheel with an audible smack! that cuts through the air like a whip. The car goes absolutely quiet. In the backseat, Dennis crosses his arms and sits back, glares out the window like a hurt little kid.
Charlie thanks Mac silently, tries to shoot a grateful glance his way, but Mac’s eyes are fixed steady ahead.
Charlie wonders what he’s thinking about.
